Mission Briefing
by probablylostrightnow
Summary: "SAM, I bet you can help me have sex with Drack!" SAM tries to deal with an unanticipated request from the Pathfinder.


I watch the Pathfinder as she paces back and forth across her quarters, muttering incomprehensible syllables to herself. I am not alarmed, nor do I interrupt her. It has become clear to me that this is simply part of her thought process. The more thorny a problem, the more pacing and muttering, and the less her utterances resemble any language in my memory banks. Typically, she emerges from these interludes with an idea that is either inspired or ludicrous. Or, rather, at least one of those two.

Several subroutines spawn and generate conjectures on the subject of her present cogitation. Our present circumstances offer no shortage of difficulties to consider. The three highest-probability lines of thought concern the kett threat, the challenges of maintaining peaceful relations with the angara, and the dire state of Nexus leadership. I wait patiently for her to speak to me. Once she does, I will adjust the probabilities for future analyses. It is a process I have repeated many times, both for Alec and for his daughter.

And yet, both Ryders have frequently defied my predictions. When she turns to me, the frown of concentration suddenly wiped from her face, it is not to ask about kett, angara, or Nexus. Instead, she announces cheerily, "SAM, I bet you can help me have sex with Drack!"

I am as caught off guard as an AI can be. Questions of this nature were not weighted highly by any algorithm. Ryder has made it very clear that she has no wish to discuss the incident involving Mr. Kosta and the couch, or the repeated visits to Ms. B'Sayle's escape pod. I have acquiesced, respecting her privacy, as is both programmed and proper. I had not anticipated that she would voluntarily raise an intimate subject, and I have no explanation for it.

Other aspects of her behavior also seem uncharacteristic. While the Pathfinder has flirted with every sentient humanoid aboard the _Tempest_ , she has typically abandoned her pursuit of any individual who rejects her advances. I had placed the krogan in that category. This inconsistency is concerning enough that I designate it as my priority inquiry.

"Ryder, my memory banks contain no indication that Nakmor Drack is receptive to sexual intercourse with you."

"He said that he wanted to, but that I was too fragile," Ryder says, the frown back on her face.

I access the appropriate record. The associated pause is imperceptible to Ryder. "According to my files, he laughed for 1.7 standard minutes, and then informed you that you would break like a twig."

"Yeah, isn't that what I said?" Ryder asks, with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Anyway, don't worry, SAM. I'm not going to climb the krogan unless I am good and sure the krogan wants to be climbed." She grins abruptly. "I just want to be _ready_."

This is not an area of assistance that Alec programmed me for. I will have to generate new code on the fly. "What assistance can I offer you, Pathfinder?"

"I just need a mission briefing. You're great at mission briefings. Do you have pictures on file? Of, ah, krogan male…" She waves a hand vaguely in the vicinity of her crotch.

In fact, my files on the species participating in the Initiative are extensive, and it is a microsecond's work to access the desired material, select a sampling of images with an indication of scale, and send them to her terminal. Ryder looks at the images and gulps. But then her face sets in a look of steely determination: the look of a woman setting herself in the path of danger.

"I advise caution, Pathfinder. Serious injury would be possible." Just too late, a subroutine fetches the memory of the last time I gave this advice. Ryder had rammed the Nomad into the middle of a kett camp, sprung out the door, and started biotically flinging herself at kett before I had completed the sentence. Telling Ryder to be cautious is as productive as telling a star to stop fusing hydrogen into helium.

I pause for several milliseconds to appreciate the simile. Such imagery poses a severe challenge for me. I consider sharing it with Ryder, but judge her unlikely to appreciate it at this moment.

"But you can help with that, right, SAM? You tell me you're always monitoring and adjusting my physiology in combat. Can't you do the same during sex? Increased, uh, elasticity" - she waves her hand at her crotch again - "tissue regeneration, that sort of thing?"

This is _definitely_ not an area of assistance that Alec programmed me for. I extrapolate from my extensive data on Ryder's physiology and her response to combat stresses, combine that with a physics engine and the files on krogan biology, and run a few rough simulations. This takes enough time that Ryder notices the pause. She shifts her weight from side to side five times while I research.

"Based on my analysis, yes," I report. "I could, with high probability, prevent you from suffering serious injury. I note that high probability is not certainty, and that a survivable experience does not guarantee an enjoyable one. Have you considered alternative sex acts?"

"Oh, I'm considering _everything_ , SAM." Ryder looks again at the krogan organ on the screen. I note an increase in her pulse rate and respiration. "I'm going to go pay Peebee a visit. Be back in a bit."

I am aware, at all times, of everything the Pathfinder says, does, and experiences. She knows this perfectly well. But maintaining the pretense that I do not accompany her on her more intimate visits seems to give her comfort. "I'll see you later, Ryder."

She pivots, makes a few quick strides, and stops in the doorway. "Hey, SAM? I _think_ I'm considering everything, but if you come up with any creative ideas? Y'know, for sex? Dump them in a log file, and I'll take a look later."

Ryder's well-being is and will always be of paramount importance to me. With that in mind, I go to work. If there is pertinent information on human-krogan sex acts in the Initiative archives, I will locate it for her before she returns from Ms. B'Sayle's improvised quarters.


End file.
